


Little Bit of Feel Good

by fuckyeahlucifersupernatural



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Nesting, Rimming, Samifer - Freeform, Samifer Week 2013
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-14
Updated: 2013-10-14
Packaged: 2017-12-29 10:25:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1004288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuckyeahlucifersupernatural/pseuds/fuckyeahlucifersupernatural
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel makes the grave mistake of walking into Lucifer's nest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Bit of Feel Good

**Author's Note:**

> [The Rules of Nesting](http://fuckyeahlucifersupernatural.tumblr.com/post/63225339471)  
>  1\. Never enter an angel’s nest without permission.  
> 2\. If an angel uses an article of your clothing in a nest, consider it gone forever.  
> 3\. Respect the boundaries set in place by the nesting angel or you may lose limbs.  
> 4\. NEVER tamper with an angels nest. We will find you.  
> 5\. If your angel is nesting, prepare yourself for intercourse. Lots of it.  
> 6\. Never mock an angel’s nest, we are much stronger than you are.  
> 7\. Many angels like to decorate the area around their nest. Compliment them on their decorations.  
> 8\. Many angels also molt around the same time. Feathers molted are usually used in the nest, take a feather and lose a finger.  
> 9\. Angels are very territorial.  
> 10\. Never, NEVER, NEVER, deny your angel partner’s nest, if you deny an angel’s nest, they will never mate.
> 
> **Disclaimer:** This is fan-run and this writer is not officially affiliated with the CW Network, Kripke Enterprises, Warner Bros., and other official affiliates tied to the TV Show "Supernatural." This user does not claim ownership to the official content of Supernatural and does not seek profit off of the work produced presently. Plagiarism of this current story will not be tolerated and will be reported following AO3's terms of services. The stories, additional characters I create, are mine. This story was not created for profit. Making profit is deemed copyright infringement unless sanctioned by copyright holders (i.e. CW Network, Kripke Enterprises, Warner Bros., etc.). Copyright infringement can range from paying a fine to actual jail time. Please do not claim this story as yours! Please do not sell this story! Please do not reproduce this story! All violators will be reported and dealt with severely! 

Lucifer has claimed the observatory as his own. 

Castiel is the first to discover what the archangel has done to the place, climbing up the stairs in curiosity to stare in muted surprise at what a _disaster_ the observatory was shaping up to be. There were numerous of potted plants about, situated about with no real order. They certainly are the plastic containers Sam got him when Lucifer showed interest in gardening a month back. There were ties and socks hanging about, one even nailed to the side of the observatory, which suspiciously looked like his tie. 

Castiel walks deeper into the observatory, the ceiling opened and the large telescope sitting silently. Right next to it laid hoards of clothes, blankets, pillows, feathers, sleeping bags and a mattress. Lucifer is no where to be seen, feeling his curiosity freely blooming as he steps closer to it. Handful of the comforters Castiel recognizes as Dean and Sam’s, a few he cannot place where they originated from. There is certainly a towel tucked in. It still looks wet... 

There are t-shirts -- oh that’s Deans! Led Zeppelin and a fallen angel is plastered on a gray shirt, worn about the collar of the shirt. There is Sam’s Stanford sweatshirt. There’s something that looks like boxers, which pulls a faint but amused smile on his cursory features. All of it is arranged around the mattress and on the mattress, feathers merely in clumps and shoved in any available spaces as if it is serving as glue. And Castiel is aware of what is going on: Lucifer is nesting. 

He certainly was using all the space he could get, feathers littering the floor and odd assortment of clothing hanging on the walls. Moving carefully across the observatory, he went to the tie he eyed before. It certainly is his. Glancing behind him, he reached out to carefully remove it from the wall, crowded in with the other assortment of clothes that it surely won’t go missed. His fingers curled around the tie -- 

**_Ç̛̤͍̹̻̯̯͓̼͇̹͈̮̘̜A̛̖͉͔͍̘͖͍̗̖̥͉̥̥̣̬͝Ș̵̨͖̖̥̮͎̮͉̰̺͖̳͔̱́T͔̭͚̱̥̣̙́͝Í̢͕͇̼̣̮̞̙̣͍̜̤̣͓̘͖͍̠́̕E͕̳͓̹̹̰͕̰͔͇̜̞͇͓͞͠L!̡̠̜̣̬̳̦͜_ **

There’s a hulking beast ripping at the ceiling of the observatory, too big to fit in, the entire bunker groaning at the weight. It’s screaming at him, high and painful enough to wedge his fingers in his ears. Metal is crunching, nails raking against the walls and the titan of an archangel is dripping with insult. Whether it is Grace or some unholy concoction that keeps Lucifer capable of holding such tremendous power despite his Fall, it’s dripping on the floor like hot acid. Feathers are whisking about in a flurry, bending the light from outside and in the room, greedily sucking it in until darkness fills the void. Only Lucifer is startling bright, shrieking madly and jaws gnashing in distress.   It’s impossible to heave out a rushing apology or fly away, the archangel surging forward and gripping the little angel tightly. The archangel pushes off the observatory, the room beginning to collapse, as he takes flight.

When the boys rush out from their rooms at the sound, they stop at the windblown and shaky Castiel making his way down from the observatory. There are feathers in his hair and he’s breathing laboriously, suddenly needing oxygen.  “Don’t go upstairs!” is the first words he gushes out with an exhale of breath. It takes ten minutes of finally understanding what happened, Dean’s breath still hot with threats of putting a bullet between Lucifer’s eyes. Cas sits at the table, dazed and eyes wide, still mortified by whatever it is Lucifer put him through. It’s only when Sam is reassured that Dean won’t leave Castiel’s side to fetch his gun does he head up to the observatory to assess the damage and the archangel. 

There are feathers littering the staircase, brows creasing with worry as he hurries his pace up to the observatory. There is no gaping hole in the observatory as described. No damage to the telescope or the equipment.

Sam stares at an undamaged observatory and a hunched blond sitting in the middle of a pile of clothes, fiddling with a few feathers. The hunter doesn’t have to bend down and peer at the archangel’s face to know he’s giving a close semblance of a pout, already aware that he is in trouble.   “Can I come in?” Sam asks, knocking lightly on the side of the wall, attempting to see if there are bits and pieces of Castiel splattered across the wall. Yet it’s impeccably clean of such, instead filled with clothes and blankets. It certainly explains the disappearances of his hoodies and Lucifer from his room. Lucifer is buried deep in one of his hoodies and his sweats, busying himself with rolling and unrolling the pant legs, abandoning the feathers he was picking at. 

Lucifer nods and Sam enters, walking carefully, staring at the walls decorated with socks and ties. There are flowers sitting innocently about, remarkably color coded when he thought about it. Sam stops at the ring of blankets, assuming this pile of fabric was the heart of Lucifer’s nest. The blond scoots to make room, Sam taking a seat on the stolen mattress underneath him. 

“You scared the crap out of Cas,” Sam begins and Lucifer’s lips curl slightly, head still focused down at his legs. “You’re not supposed to be smug,” the younger male huffs with humor, nudging at the blond’s side with his elbow, a throaty chortle leaving the archangel. 

“You should have seen the look on his face,” Lucifer hums out, rather proud he scared the little angel. Sam gives an exasperated sound more out of necessity, more tickled by the archangel’s rank humor and the bemused look overtaking his features. It’s different this time. No hard lines around the eyes, just lazy with warm success. 

Sam crosses his legs, their knees bumping and another melting chuckle leaving the confines of Lucifer. “Decorating, hm?” the hunter asks, turning his head to the observatory, squinting up at the ceiling to see...something hanging. He can’t make it out from where he’s at. It takes a moment to realize Lucifer is boring holes into him, glancing over to see a face splashed with anticipation and worry of what Sam may say next. “It looks really nice, Luce,” Sam continues and the archangel visibly relaxes, back to the lazy smile. 

The archangel lays down on the crafted conundrum of clothes, knees bent, eyes closed and toes stretching and curling with sleep-slow abandon. The angel is becoming the epitome of content, sharing more the likeness of a cat bathing in the sun than a temperamental archangel that scared the daylights out of a fellow angel.

Castiel informed them that Lucifer was nesting and that he may react and act more sensitively before. Sam’s not too sure. He has an archangel sprawled out in satisfaction, mild-mannered and smile still taking his pink lips hostage. Probably reeling in numbing satisfaction at his nod of approval at his nest or how badly he scared Castiel. So the hunter lays down beside Lucifer, turning on his side so he can watch him, fingers reaching out to push through a head of messy hair. 

Lucifer rumbles with pleasure, the sound vibrating from his chest as Sam scratches at the archangel’s scalp. They spend the next few moments soaking in the silence and the other’s presence, Lucifer’s mellow and warming demeanor contagious.

“May I kiss you?”

Eyes are open and staring at him, body turning to his side to face Sam. There’s a flush peeking on his collarbone and neck, Sam fights off the urge to rub at it. “Yes,” he finds himself rushing out, the archangel simply moving his cold fingers to chase away the heat around his neck. He only chases away the color off his skin, dipping down to his collarbone but never pushing further down Sam’s v-neck. The pad of his fingers just graze the skin before rising up to settle on his jaw. 

Sam can feel the flush racing back in fervor, gaining ground and he is baffled. Castiel assured him that Lucifer would be on his toes, ready to act quickly and, apparently, more eager to be physical (a friendly translation in contrast to Castiel’s who called it “intense need to mate and bond” and Dean who dubbed it as “Lucifer’s horny as hell. Think angel viagra”). He prepared himself to find the archangel pinning him to the ground and rubbing himself all over him, but instead the angel is slack with content and movements flowing far more fluidly than before. With his eyes half-closed, Sam’s surprised Lucifer isn’t falling asleep on him. But there is smoldering tundras of pale blues and grays watching him, bright slivers of light and each touch feels as if he’s paying homage to him. Even still, Sam can’t quite understand why the flush is rising to his neck and kissing the tip of his ears. 

The kiss comes with ease and yet it manages to surprise Sam all the same. He sucks in the air sharply, taking in the oxygen within the archangel’s mouth and it freezes the back of his throat. Fingers curl for grip about his jaw and vainly attempting to understand why he feels as if he just was kissed for the first time, stomach fluttering and skin blaring hot. 

Sam can’t get over the way Lucifer kisses him. His lips press against his, hungry groan fluttering about in his throat, as if this is going to be their last kiss. It’s possessive and thorough, tongue pushing and curling in Sam’s mouth in sensory exploration. Sam knows what he looks like in Lucifer’s eyes. Knows how he feels against Lucifer’s fingers. While it was a brief moment they housed each other, it was daunting the amount of love and praise the archangel held for him. How he was falling face forward in blasphemy, worshiping the fabric of his being to the structure of his bones. 

Castiel was a goddamn liar. He told him nothing to prepare him for this. Each kiss he’s struggling to gain his wits, only able to move his mouth with Lucifer’s, not sure when his hands moved to fist into the archangel’s hoodie. When he needs air, Lucifer pulls away, kissing his cheek with fond pecks that Sam can’t help laughing softly, tilting his head so Lucifer has better access. 

“I’m suppose to punish you,” Sam groans out in disbelief, moving his head so their lips can meet again. Sam licks the roof of Lucifer’s mouth and the archangel gives a soft sound, wet around the edges and rising high in pitch in the middle of the note. It trails into a curious hum, Lucifer easing away with an impish smile pulling at the left side of his mouth.

“Punish me?” It comes out sleek out of his mouth, pulling at the lower vertebras at his spine as if caught against the divots of bone.

“You know... Wants to hear you screaming and whatnot -- ” Lucifer is laughing, as Sam struggles to continue with the laughter already pushing out of his mouth. “Beg for -- _ha ha ha_ \-- mercy -- okay, you’re being a brat! I’m trying to be serious!” They’re laughing, Lucifer earnestly professing he was doing his best to take him seriously. Sam doesn’t think he’s ever heard the archangel laugh like this, bright and loud, fingers digging into his own sides as if they ached. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen the angel so happy and at ease. Usually Lucifer looks exhausted and out of place, spending the most of his time outside poking about in the dirt. This was nice and Sam can’t help but press a kiss on the side of Lucifer’s laughing mouth, the laughter instantly easing to satisfied sound birthing in his chest. 

“I’ve never seen you so happy before,” the hunter confesses, a soft smile easing onto the blond’s face. 

“ _You_ make me happy.”

Sam is the one who reaches out, finds the archangel’s fingers and tangles his fingers through his. Wiggling closer, he lets his forehead rest against Lucifer’s, feeling Lucifer’s leg push between his. It’s strangely comfortable in this hodgepodge mess of fabric. Judging from the fleece comforter underneath his torso, it may be all thanks to Dean’s meticulous and splurging choices in bedding. 

Lucifer’s nose brushes against his before there is a mouth against his ear, murmuring quietly into it until Sam is nearly shoving the archangel aside. Sam doesn’t bother attempting to look scandalized over the simple suggestion breathed into his ear. Lucifer stretches on his back, crooked grin on his mouth. Getting on his knees, Sam yanks the v-neck over his head, shaking his head at the rather smug looking angel staring up at him. The hunter snorts as he works on the button of his jeans, nearly tearing the zipper off. 

“ _So_...,” the archangel drawls out proudly, “Am I to believe this is you giving a resounding _yes_?” 

Sam manages to give Lucifer a withering look as he stands up to shimmy out of his jeans, the archangel’s eyes drifting across the hunter’s frame. “Yes,” he exhales out, tossing his jeans out of the circle of fabric and feathers. Thumbs hook through the band of his boxers and is surprised by how gracefully he steps out of them with how fast he’s trying to tug them off. Sam resists the urge to toss them at Lucifer’s face for good measure. It’s only when they’re tossed with the jeans does the archangel sit up, patting the bottom of the nest.

Sam wants to give a biting comment for the sake of it, but there’s nothing he can think of when he’s staring at this boyishly dumb grin on Lucifer’s face. All he can do is acknowledge his own cheeks hurt from how hard he’s smiling, as if it’s been so long since he’s been happy like this, too. Where he can just be silly and fool around, snorting at ridiculous asides and flirtation that turns into fits of laughter. The smile is only diminished when his lips become interested in pressing into the archangel’s, swallowing a chuckle that’s cool and tickles the back of his throat. 

He couldn’t be more happier to share this feeling with the Morningstar. 

The hunter lays on his stomach, Dean’s comforter warm and tickling his stomach, picking at a nearby -- well that was certainly a couch cushion from the library. Sam snorts in amusement, pulls it closer to him so he can rest his head and arms against it, turning his head to peer at the archangel who is beginning to crawl over him. A hand grazes the inside of his thigh, cool-to-the-touch, before it leaves. The mattress hushes and groans in almost inaudible tones as the archangel moves, trying to imagine how someone who weighs as nearly as him could have shaken the entire bunker. Lucifer’s true visage still evades him, only grasping glimpses and corner pocket views of the archangel au naturel.

Lips press into the small of his back and he twitches, eyes closing as his lower back is peppered with small kisses. He is nearly falling into a fit of obnoxious laughter -- which Lucifer will swear up and down that it was more giggles than laughter -- when teeth playfully nip at the soft flesh of his backside.

Sam doesn’t need to ask. He doesn’t need to pry as to why he got to see Lucifer like this. Why he got to see him smile and laugh openly, so sedated in the bliss and warmth of the room and of Sam’s presence. This was his safe place. This was his haven and...maybe this was the Lucifer who once resided in Heaven: sarcastic, rational, ready to smile and laugh over poor humor with a bit of a testing/broaching sort of playful demeanor. This is the Lucifer who feels, that at least for this moment, he finally has a home. 

Sam wonders, once this nesting period has past and Dean demands the place be cleared out, will the archangel pull himself back in. If he will wander about lost and spend the remainder of his days poking at the earth, morose and bitter. Sam will have to wait next time to see the Heaven in the archangel’s eyes. 

He isn’t given the option of letting his mood turn, his toes suddenly digging into the comforter and mattress when a tongue drags across his entrance. The brunette pushes his hips into the mattress, muscles clenching and the archangel is giving a sound in humor. 

“I thought I lost you there,” the archangel quips, fingers rubbing and massaging his backside until Sam relaxes, “Something more important on your mind?” Sam doesn’t need to turn his head to see the ruthful smile on the devil’s lips, instead moving a leg to jab the heel of his foot into the blond’s side. He chuckles against his skin, leaving icy kisses until Sam’s skin turns pink at the temperature difference. 

“Shuddup,” Sam manages to huff out, smiling loosely. 

Fingers push him apart once more, thumb dragging across the smeared trail of saliva he left before. Sam mumbles something inaudible into his arms when the rough pad of his finger grazes his entrance. The mumble morphs into a sharp intake of air when the flat of Lucifer’s tongue runs across once more. The salt of Sam’s skin collects on the archangel’s tastebuds, determinedly running his tongue across whatever skin may be untouched by his tongue that lays nearby. Pulling the stolen couch cushion closer to him provided to as a good way to root himself, biting the skin of his arm when the tip of the archangel’s tongue begins to dance across the rim. 

He feels his hips rise, greedily pushing back to feel the thump of bliss racing across his nervous system, making the muscles in his thighs twitch and shake. Lucifer keeps him in place, slowly teasing the ring of nerves and muscle to ease, gently prodding and exploring. When Sam begins to push against Lucifer’s hands, hips wriggling as if it may help, the archangel will turn his mouth elsewhere. He’ll nip at the skin around his entrance -- now a lovely pallet of pink -- until Sam grounds his hips back onto the mattress, a demanding sound reverberating throughout his chest. 

Lucifer moves back with ease, all smooth smiles and swiped licks, taking his time in pushing through the tight ringlet of muscles. Sam lets out a throaty sound that makes the hair on the archangel’s arms stand, returning back with a thicker sound. Pulling back, replacing his mouth with the pad of his thumb, he listened to Sam complain in a series of disgruntled whines and a sharp look being shot over the hunter’s shoulder. The archangel chuckles, popping a finger into his mouth as his thumb rubs at the ringlet of wet, puckered flesh. 

Even the archangel can’t tell whether it’s the workings of sound in the observatory or Sam himself as he moans. It’s loud and carrying about in the air when he eventually slides a finger in, sliding and searching across the walls of muscles until Sam is spasming. The archangel remains upward and on his knees, watching Sam’s mouth part and breathe harshly against his arm and cushion, saliva coating his forearm and dripping down onto fabric. Dipping down, free hand pushing Sam apart, he sucks on the skin around the rim as his finger curls and slides to its own rhythm, nose pushed into the hunter’s skin. 

Sam’s warm against his mouth, long limbs pressing against his sides and toes digging into the mattress. There’s a blush that’s overtaking the inside of Sam’s thighs, red and heated, darker in color the closer it is to the juncture between thighs and pubic bone. He lets another finger slip in, waiting for Sam to grunt with ease as his body grows accustom to the addition. 

It’s when Sam’s hips are rocking eagerly into his fingers, pushing against his nose as he leaves a hickey on Sam’s backside, does he finally pull away. Sam groans and lifts his hips, eyes soon searching to find the blond pulling his hoodie over his head. When the hoodie comes off, t-shirt hiked up, Sam is adjusting himself comfortably on his back. 

There’s not a spot on Sam’s neck, collarbone and ears that is not a beating crimson, tempted to lay his cool hands across the skin to watch it turn pale.

Instead he wrestles with the clothes, a bit baffled at how difficult they are to remove in contrast to putting on. Sam’s laughter is breathless and affectionate when a pant leg refuses to be kicked off. It’s the archangel who tosses his boxers at Sam, giving an indignant huff before he’s playfully nipping at his chest.

Sam is tossing the undergarments elsewhere to be lost within the chaos in the room, eyes sliding back to the blond whose lips are unable to fight the curl hugging the corners of his mouth. He’s trying to imagine Lucifer poking into rooms, plucking clothes as if they now belong to him to “artistically” arrange them to his liking. 

“I hope that wasn’t meant in sarcasm,” Lucifer’s voice is cutting in, Sam balking before he’s pushing himself up so he can let his fingers glide across the softness of the archangel’s stomach. 

“Are you reading my mind?” Sam accuses, fingers tracing the dip. Lucifer’s frame is thrumming in pleasure at the attention moving itself across his stomach, shifting anxiously when fingers dip to rub at his hipbones, thumbs rubbing circles into flesh. 

Lucifer cleared his throat, articulately beginning, “With the lack of clothing, I feel it makes our connection incredibly amplified -- 

“ _You_ \--” Sam’s huffing out in disbelief, eyes wide as he gives a snort. “ You’re awful,” he’s grinning and Lucifer looks particularly proud of himself, dipping his head to push his nose into Sam’s cheek in affection. There’s a kiss shared, playful and muffling their laughter. Lucifer’s laughter cuts into a ragged moan, shoulders nearly sagging when Sam wraps his fingers around him. 

Sam can push color up to the tip, long fingers wrapped around the somewhat warmth of the archangel’s arousal. The color burning on his collarbone is mimicked on the tip of the archangel, a progression of pinks and reds. Twisting his hand, feeling the landscape of engorged veins and flesh run across his palm, the blond gives a harsh exhale of air and rests his forehead on his shoulder. The hunter builds an easy pace, letting his thumb stroke up on the upward to drag across the frenulum, earning a greedy whine each and every time. 

His thumb pushes the beading precum, rubbing it into his skin, watching the way Lucifer’s stomach sucks in and flutters. There’s a cold mouth kissing his shoulder and gently pushing him away, Sam complying. The hunter shifts and gets himself comfortable, letting his limbs be guided and moved by Lucifer. 

“Can I ask you something?” 

Sam’s just as surprised as Lucifer is that the words came out of his mouth. The archangel pauses, pads of his fingers resting on Sam’s backside. He gives a nod, sitting patiently on his haunches. 

“Why -- Cas said that, well, he made it sound a lot like you’d be...” Sam trails off, struggling to find a substitute to Dean’s “horny as hell” in the daze of everything else. “You know, eager to...get in my pants.” Well it wasn’t poetic nor intelligent as he’d like but he’s grasping at straws and it’s a question he’s been dying to ask the minute he laid out in the nest. 

Lucifer blinks for a moment, shifts before answering slowly, tasting each word coming out of his mouth, “I wanted to, initially, but I rather enjoy our time together as long as I can. I want to make sure you’re happy just as much as I am, if not more.” His fingers flick upward in gesture to the observatory. “This isn’t so much for me. This is for you,” he added in quiet aftermath, “I thought of you when I made this.”

Sam turns his gaze to stare at the decor in the room before turning back to Lucifer, the blond staring at him in anticipation. 

“So _that’s_ why I love this place so much.”

Lucifer’s lips pull into that bright grin, once again, swooping down to press a searing kiss against his mouth. Sam will swear, to this very day, that for a brief moment in time, the archangel looked nothing but bashful. For a moment, Sam can’t tell where one begins and the other ends, lips crushing against the other and teeth clicking. He can feel Lucifer’s overwhelming joy and love pouring from his Grace that it’s almost terrifying and overwhelming. He’s aware of hands moving his legs, mouth searching hungrily for Lucifer’s whenever their mouths slide off the other.

There’s a thumb rubbing the skin around his surface and he lets his hips rise from the mattress in a quiet confirmation. The archangel moves, hands gliding across his legs before the blond pushes in.

Hands run across the underside of his thighs, stopping above the inside of his knees and laying his hands flat, pinning his legs up in the air. Hips roll fluidly, Sam breathing harshly whenever he catches himself staring for too long, suddenly aware of the heart beating in his throat and the pulsating of every patch of skin in his body. The blond’s hips are shifting, adjusting his body and giving an eager thrust into the Winchester that finally hits true to its mark. 

Fingers fist into the sheets underneath, slack jawed and moaning for more. Sam doesn’t he realize he’s reaching out until he’s pulling Lucifer closer to him, one of his thighs giving a sharp pang of discomfort when Lucifer’s weight is further applied to it. The archangel’s hands leave his thighs, finding the mattress underneath them for support as Sam crushes his mouth into Lucifer’s. He can’t stop grabbing at the blond, fingers scratching the base of his scalp until Lucifer’s movements become slow and deep. It’s only when his fingers claw for more, scratching and grabbing with blunt nails at the peak of Lucifer’s shoulder blades, is he melting with pleasure. 

Lucifer sags into him, a surprised grunt leaving his mouth as his arms tremble as fingers push and knead the skin. His pace begins to grow sloppy, losing it’s meticulous rhythm and fluidity as fingers continue to push the sounds further out of Lucifer’s throat. The blond is whining, muscles in his back spasming under Sam’s touch and each sound makes heat burn the lining of his being. 

The archangel is groaning out something foreign, something that falls out of his tongue so easily that he, himself, could never master. Sam only lets his fingers continue to dance across the twitching expanse of Lucifer’s back, the archangel’s mouth buried on his collarbone. Pretty noises, wet and hungry around each note, hips snapping with a tone of erratic. It punches Sam in the gut with heat, gasping for air and being overwhelmed by wrecked whines leaving Lucifer. 

Fingers suddenly are groping the side of his face, an arm moving around Sam’s suspended leg, to slide across Sam’s eyes. He can taste the sun. Or at least, what he’d feel the sun would taste like. 

It singes his skin, his tastebuds and his insides, smelling like fire and atmosphere. Sunspots are dancing across the darkness of his vision, colorful shapes falling and gliding as his skin breaks out in goosebumps at the sudden heat glossing over his frame. 

Then the hand leaves him and Sam blinks owlishly at a flushed archangel. There’s a mess streaking across his stomach and his legs are beginning to smart. Lucifer leans back and gives Sam room to let his legs down, shifting on the mattress and both parties groaning quietly together.

Lucifer gently eases out, slumping next to Sam, stretching with a dazed slowness. Sam lets his fingers find the archangel, rubbing against his side before cool fingers intertwine with his. They lay their in the warmth, too lazy to get up and clean themselves. Sam can’t help but stare at the blond, hair standing at odd ends and looking blissed out. He squeezes the archangel’s hand affectionately and he hums in response, warm and at ease. 

“Will you stay with me for the night?” the archangel finally asks, voice a bit hoarse around the edges.

There are blue eyes staring at him now and Sam gives a nod, “I’m not going anywhere.” The archangel gives a pleased rumble, eyes closing and sinking back into his blissed out state, content and limbs warm with use. 

Turning his head back to the ceiling, Sam balks at what he finally realizes is hanging on the ceiling from before. Castiel’s trench coat was suspended as an ornament in the middle of the room, giving a sound of surprise.

“Really, Luce?”

Lucifer only groans as he shifts, turning on his side so he can face the hunter, “You _still_ should have seen the look on his face.”

**Author's Note:**

> _Love it? Hate it? Tell me in a review!_


End file.
